The hot farm water smelling of sulfur, rinsing away the outdoor grime.

The curtain rod ripped away, clattering to the ground.

The white hot needles as my wet hair pulled me out of the tiny tub, my shin banging against the edge.

The fury in his eyes as the hands I loved wrapped around my throat, his strength branding my naked body with the cold towel rack behind me.

The words spat at me.

Dirty. Ungrateful. Whore. Ruined.

The fight to breathe as the outer rim of my world dimmed before a black curtain fell.

It had to be dream.

“Lily, you’re awake. Good. I was worried about you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but only a croak emerged.

It hurt to swallow.

“Here.” He stood, walking next to my bed.

My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to flee even though his body blocked the door.

He delicately picked up a glass of water on the nightstand. “Lily, drink this.”

The water soothed the dryness even as my throat struggled to gulp it down.

The cold water dribbled down the corner of my mouth, over my neck, and onto the towel beneath my still wet hair.

It had to be a dream.

Prepared with a small towel in hand, he wiped away the liquid trail. “Lily, I let my anger get the best of me.” He caressed the top of my head and frowned at me, as if I was an ill child. “You were careless.”

Nausea danced in my stomach.

Not a dream.

“You are my angel. My Lily. You will be the mother of my children. I cannot tolerate filth or dirt, especially on my perfect flower. You promised me.”

Guilt. This I knew, witnessing his temper once before, after tracking mud into his apartment. The anger. My promise never to do it again.

My excitement over the space, the land, and the garden cloaking the memory from view.

Constructive criticism wanted and greatly appreciated.

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About Kelly K @ Dances with Chaos

Kelly K has learned the five steps to surviving of motherhood:
1) Don't get mad. Grab your camera. 2) Take a photograph. 3) Blog about it. 4) Laugh. 5) Repeat.
She shares these tales at Dances with Chaos in order to preserve what tiny amount of sanity remains.
You can also find her on her sister blog, Writing with Chaos (www.writingwithchaos.com) sharing memoir and engaging in her true love: fiction writing.
It's cheaper than therapy.

The power of these words…the vividness that brings goosebumps. I find my self pulling for your eyes to actually be able to shout (“I’m sorry.” My voice a whisper. I shouted with my eyes, trying to say what my words couldn’t.).
xo

I mean this as a compliment, so don’t be offended, but wow you can really bring the nasty! The details and vividness of the scene you’ve painted turns my stomach, and then I think of The Garden and can’t wait to find out how this story becomes that one.

This was my favorite piece in this storyline yet. Every detail felt vivid and necessary. I loved how you were sparser with your words but they packed just as powerful a punch. Even more so. I also know that moment all to well when you wake up and briefly think that bad thing didn’t really happen. You captured that well. I honestly have nothing critical to say!

ths story is so powerful and so truly scary, but I love it. I can’t wait to see where’s it’s going from here and this piece of it, written in the one sentences sequence at the top, I truly loved. Almost James Patterson like, you told us all we needed with so few words. Excellent.

You have two similes in the first two sentences. Not sure how much they add.

Yellowed afghan covering my body. It itched.

Then you have this sentence, which is actually a fragment. It should be “A yellowed afghan covered my body.”

But then the “it itched” seems out of place with the flow of the first two sentences. So it could be “An itchy yellowed afghan covered my body” or “The yellowed afghan itched my body where it covered me.” Something like that.

Also, why does he keep saying Lily? Is that something he just does?

If this was the first time he beat her, I can’t believe a smile from him would erase it. Maybe more backstory is needed to answer why she wouldn’t ask what the eff was going on.

And a grown man of 30 is dropping trou for his grandmother? Lots of ickiness there – how has he acted “normal” for Lilly?

This really is dripping with nastiness. Good job! The blame from him really comes across. The part I’m stuck on is whether I believe he would really be sitting there when she wakes up. Is that intentional? Does it say something about the kind of person he is? I’d like to know 😉

So last night my computer and all technology hated me and I tried to leave a comment here. I will try to paraphrase here again… OMG this is just so scary! and I love the creepiness of it. He is one really awful guy and I can’t wait for him to get in the “Garden”.
I’m dying to know what she means when “she gave up everything” what’s the everything. I can’t wait to find out. please turn the page again…

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